Where It Will End
by Lif61
Summary: The end is here, as Lucifer promised. FINAL SEQUEL TO "WHERE IT ALL STARTED."


**A/N: This is the final installment to the series that started with "Where It All Started". The fic before this one is "Where It Is." I highly recommend not reading further. Yes, I'm the author. I'm supposed to sell the story to you, but leave it at "Where It All Started". This one is the darkest fic I've written, and is highly distressing, horrific, disturbing, despairing, and hopeless. No, this is not me pulling a Lemony Snicket to get you to read further. There is no happy ending here, so if you'd like to go back to the "light" part of the series of "Where It All Started" I recommend that rather than reading this. This was written as a continuation as a request on another website and an experiment to see if Lucifer would follow through wit his threats in "Where It All Started". He did not disappoint.**

**WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Major Character Deaths**

**READ WITH CAUTION**

**If you read the warnings and the author's note and decide to read anyway and find yourself upset, the fault lies with you. If you read it and find yourself enjoying it, congrats, you can join me down below, we'll meet at the gluten free panini station!**

* * *

The end didn't start with a bang, or even any loud, thunderous noise like doom stretching out on the horizon, but with a whisper in Sam's mind.

"_Sa-ammy…_"

He shifted in his bed, wincing, turning onto his side, sweat beading on his neck.

"_Sa-ammy…_"

Destruction flashed in his mind, the ends of the Earth, Heaven, white light and bursts of stars being consumed by darkness, flashes of blood, angels screaming, souls consumed by thick black.

"_Sa-ammy_…"

Hell. Fire raging, burning, extinguished by cold, ice spreading throughout the vast realm of blood and excruciation, demons dying as their realm fell into ruin, black smoke sputtering out, hellish light flashing through them before they went to the nothingness that awaited them.

"_Sa-ammy_…"

Sam saw starlight, bursts of ice, of heat, of nothing, of everything, of blood, of screams, of death.

A hand reached out for him, caressed his neck. He woke up when he felt a mouth on his ear, and a voice said to him, dread settling over his heart:

"I'm coming."

* * *

They fortified the bunker. It was all they could do. It was too late now, so Sam talked, Sam told them what was coming, told them of the Devil's promise.

Heaven was gone, Hell extinguished.

The universe quiet.

Earth dead.

Hope dead.

All was over.

They waited, Jack sealed in his room behind wardings, an angel blade in his hand, surely coughing, dying, and Sam, Dean, and Castiel were in the war room, with what weapons they had. They'd melted angel blades down into bullets and pellets for shotgun shells, and the three of them had their guns, all ready. Sam had his position on the table, standing there, not ready for what he would have to face, Lucifer's words in his mind.

He'd be the last one, and there was one demon still left alive.

A hollow, metallic sound started up:

_Bang..._

_Bang..._

_Bang..._

Three knocks.

The Devil was here.

Sam flinched as the door blew in, metal screeching as it ripped off its hinges, and then it flew to the side, blasting into the wall, shattering tile. There was smoke, a shadow standing before them.

They pumped the fore-ends of their shotguns, and started firing, deafening bangs permeating the air.

Shotguns shells hit home in flesh, blood misting throughout the smoke, seen as splatters of red. Savage cries were heard that shook the foundations of stone, but still the figure walked forward. Lucifer, bleeding heavily, body ripped and torn, but healing, came to stand before the railing. He had eyes only for Sam, and he smiled, already a victor.

"There's no point in fighting," he told them. "You're the last ones. This is it."

He snapped his fingers, and a demon obediently followed in, head down. Lucifer grabbed him by the neck, and then shoved him down the stairs. He waved his other hand, and the shotguns flew across the room.

Lucifer descended, continuing to speak, "Sam, I'd like you to meet the last demon. This is Edrol. I'm sure he tastes wonderful. Dean, Castiel, always nice to see you two. Hope you make beautiful corpses.'

"No," Castiel said. "No, we won't let you."

"Won't let me what?" He spread his arms out. "This is it. I've won." His eyes flashed red, and he brushed Dean and Castiel aside, not caring. He jumped on the table, joining Sam, and Sam backed up, getting onto a chair, and then on the floor, nearly falling. Lucifer stood above them all.

"You think we're just gonna give up?" Dean yelled.

"I think I'd like to decorate the wall with your guts, so go get Jack, and we'll draw straws to see who's first," he growled.

Sam lowered his head, unable to move, completely frozen.

"Sam?" Dean asked, reaching out for him. He shook him. "Sam!"

The Devil was laughing.

"Sam's mine, you pathetic son of a bitch."

"What?"

"Rape, Dean. Rape. I'm gonna fuck him till the end of days." Lucifer jumped off the table now, getting close to both of them, and he grabbed Sam's face roughly, hand under his chin, staring deep into his eyes, making Sam shudder. "Isn't that right, Sammy? I keep my promises, don't I?"

"You're a liar," Sam snarled.

Satan growled, and leaned in, teeth bared. "Fine. But not about this. Your ass is mine."

This distressed Dean and Castiel so much that they threw themselves at Lucifer, but they didn't stand a chance. Coming back from the Empty he was more powerful than ever before, and he wasn't up for fighting like a human. He simply flung them off of him, and slammed them into the wall, their ribs cracking from the pressure of him keeping them there, and they couldn't even let out screams from the pain. Sam held back his tears.

"Hands off, boys. Only Sam gets to touch this." He snapped his fingers, making Sam flinch, and he commanded him, voice low, rough. "Go get our son."

Tears in his eyes, not breathing, heart in his throat, he turned to do so.

Jack cried when Sam went to him, but he didn't do as he was told to do. He didn't grab him and bring him to Lucifer. He couldn't. He _wouldn't_. Jack would not suffer a fate worse than death, only to then have his body mutilated by his own father.

Sam couldn't let that happen to him.

Sam sat on the bed with Jack, and he wrapped an arm about his shoulders.

"It's okay, Jack," he told him, tears in his eyes. "It's okay. You're gonna be fine. You'll be alright."

"Sam, what's happening?"

"Lucifer's here."

"Is he gonna hurt me?"

"No, I won't let him."

Sam hugged him, squeezing hard, and he put an arm around Jack's neck.

His son grabbed him, struggling, legs kicking out, fighting him, but the blade had fallen from his hands.

Tears were trailing down Sam's face, and he was hyperventilating now.

"It's o-okay, Jack. It's okay, it's okay."

Seven minutes. It took seven minutes for someone to die from suffocation, and after six minutes it was impossible to resuscitate them. And Sam had a minute before Jack passed out. After he passed out he had a decision to make. He could break his neck, make it quick, or he could keep squeezing, wait those awful seven minutes, possibly mess up counting, have him live, let Satan tear him apart.

God, his son. His only child. _Jack._ He seemed small in his arms compared to him. Though he had the body of an eighteen year old, Jack wasn't an adult. He was a child.

A child who'd trusted him, who'd called him father, who'd wanted him to take care of him, someone who Sam cared for deeply, someone who he was already having to watch die from his sickness.

And now here he was… stealing his life.

Saving him.

He was saving him from a worse fate.

Lucifer would torture him.

He'd rip him apart while he was still alive, flay his skin from him, take his bones out of him, carve into him, tear his muscles, rip his nails out, break him.

Still Jack struggled, and Sam cried, wanted to scream, but he didn't have the strength, and he didn't want the last thing Jack ever heard to be his dad screaming.

"I got you, Jack," Sam told him. "I got you. You're gonna go some place nice, where no one can hurt you ever again, where… where you're not coughing, where you have your wings, with… with no nightmares… where you can fly again… w-where it doesn't matter what you are. It's gonna be okay. You're okay. You're okay, you're okay!"

Jack stopped struggling, eyes sliding closed.

Sam waited a few seconds, and he screamed as he broke his son's neck.

He felt for his pulse.

There was none.

He stayed there, hugging his body.

Dean and Castiel were trapped and couldn't come running, but Lucifer came and found him and he did him one kindness: he didn't mutilate Jack after death. He set him aside, put a hand to Sam's cheek, and told him, "You're very brave."

"Get it over with," Sam snarled. "Get it over with! Take me!"

"Sam, I have to finish killing your family! You have to watch."

"Don't. _Don't make me._"

He had no choice. Satan grabbed his hair, and dragged him out of his dead son's room.

Dean and Castiel were on the table of the war room, bleeding from their ears when Sam was dragged back into the room, and he was thrown before them, stumbling.

"Sam, where's Jack?" Castiel asked, voice laced with pain.

Sam's jaw dropped open, saliva building up in his mouth.

He was going to be sick.

He couldn't answer.

"Sam killed him," Lucifer answered.

Screams followed, and Lucifer set to work on his family.

He killed them slowly, leaving Sam rooted to the spot by them, making him watch as he used his powers to break their bones, to shatter them, to rip their muscles, to tear into their skin, to let their blood flow till it was dripping from the table. All of them were screeching, and howling, and wailing, and bellowing, making noises that humans weren't meant to make, suffering agonies that no one was meant to endure.

They died holding hands.

Sam was released once Castiel's Grace burned throughout the bunker and his wings were visible through the blood on the table, one wrapped around Dean. He screamed himself hoarse, hitting himself, and then got on all fours, sweating, shaking, and his stomach emptied itself.

Lucifer ran his hands over his back as he continued to throw up, vomit mixing with the blood that poured off the table.

Sam couldn't talk. There was no talking after that.

Lucifer took him and brought him home, to Lawrence, to the house where it'd all started. The house where it would end.

Sam was holding onto him, trembling, dry heaving, mouth open as he screamed soundlessly, hyperventilating, and no tears fell anymore: he'd cried them all already.

Fear was taking hold of him now.

The demon had watched his family die, but had seemed to get no pleasure from it. He knew what was coming, and Lucifer left Sam on the floor of his nursery, dying from a broken heart, a fierce ache in his chest like he was being sundered, to go retrieve the demon.

Satan threw Edrol down in front of him, and he stepped on Sam's back, commanding, "_Drink._"

With a flick of his hand, Edrol was bleeding from his neck, and Sam was sobbing, crawling over to him, absolutely broken.

He'd lost.

Lucifer was groaning with delight. Sam gripped the demon, and he began to drink, sick with himself, sick with existence, sick with everything, and wanting to die, wanting to die more than he ever had before.

God, it tasted so good. He drank, and he drank, Lucifer petting him, slowly taking his clothes off, and Sam found that the more he drank the less he cared. He was moaning, leaning into his touch, high, blinded with crimson, alight with sensual energy.

But still dying.

All of him, all of everything… dying.

"There we go, Sammy. That's a good boy."

Strong hands caressed his skin, and he shivered. His arms were pulled back, his shirt being taken off of him, and then his undershirt was being torn clean through. Sam groaned, and then snarled when Lucifer straddled him, hands finding his nipples to play with. He glared back at him, and his head was shoved forward, straining his neck.

"Don't look at me. Drink."

Sam was on the demon, who lay dying, whimpering, not even struggling, lost and alone, and Lucifer ran his hands over Sam's naked body, leaving Sam tense and absolutely sick with dread beneath him, but god, he felt so good.

The blood was turning him on, a voice crying _touch me_, even as everything in his head went blank with utter terror.

Pressure in his pelvis.

Sam lapped at the wound, moaning, and somehow Lucifer's fingers were wet; they found his rim, not being gentle about breaching him.

Sam grunted, pulling away from him, and Lucifer grabbed his hip in an iron grip, keeping him close.

"_Mine_," he growled, the one word leaving him like an animal that had found its prey and wasn't about to let it go.

Sam knew the feeling. If anyone dared to take the demon from him, he'd fight. And that was what Lucifer did; pushing him aside. Sam lifted his leg up and back, twisted, and got his legs around Lucifer, turned, so that he threw him onto his side. His fingers weren't in him anymore, and he screamed at him, grabbing his arm, yanking his wrist back as far as he could.

Lucifer got into this game he'd started, this fight, and wrenched Sam's legs open. He grabbed his balls, pulling hard, and a vicious cry left Sam as pain stabbed up into his stomach, making him light-headed. He put a hand on his pelvis, holding him down, and then he punched him in the face a few times, before finding his throat and squeezing. Choked gasps were all that Sam could muster, and he clawed and clawed at his hands, but it was no use.

The Devil leaned in and kissed Sam's crimson-painted lips, breathing hard.

Disoriented, hurting, feeling downright awful, Sam bit him. Satan groaned, and started taking his own clothes off. God, his arms were huge. Pressure on his throat, growing stronger, and stronger, black spots in his vision, lungs and head pounding.

Sam lost consciousness, body screaming for air, for blood.

* * *

When he came to, the Devil was dripping blood in his mouth. The demon was dead, drained, blood all over the floor, showing that Sam had been out for a few hours. He didn't even ask how. His body ached fiercely, and he felt sticky inside, and Lucifer was naked beside him. The dark angel had kept him out for his own purposes. Sam didn't have the strength to throw up.

"Welcome back to the world of… well, not the living since it's just you and me left, partner. How it should be. Like the Cage but we have all this space."

He shoved his blood-coated fingers into Sam's mouth, into his throat, causing Sam to gag, grabbing at his hand, eyes watering, trying to roll onto all fours in case anything came up, but _oh, the taste_, so sweet and perfect against his tongue, the power it infused into his weakened body.

Lucifer pulled his fingers away, and set to work on shoving them in Sam's now-stretched hole. Shocked at the pain, he screamed, clawing at the floor, nails tearing from how roughly he scraped at the old wood of his nursery.

"Still day one, Sammy. Day one of the end, of you and me."

"Go to Hell!" Sam shouted, breathing deeply, trying to get his body to relax to stave off the pain, knowing there was no use in fighting.

He did relax, and pleasure worked its way through him as liquid fire that caressed his heated skin. A strangled groan left him as the Devil found his prostate, and he curled up on his side, pulling his legs up, Lucifer's fingers delving deeper.

"Hell's gone."

Sam closed his eyes, and fell into the old routine he had with Lucifer: that of his bitch, of letting him know he was pleasuring him, of giving in, of trying to cooperate to survive — he had always had the chance to fight later. Except now there would be no later.

This was it.

This was where it would end.

His mouth dropped open, lips parting, and a moan left him.

This was all there was for him now.

His family was dead.

Everyone and everything was dead.

Even the last demon was dead.

There was just rape.

So Sam thought he might as well indulge in the agonies, listen to his body as it told him it was nearing orgasm. It was used to the fingers inside of him, used to the body that was now pressing up against his, the mouth that was on him, telling him with brutal marks that made him flinch and cry out that he was his, and always had been, even from the beginning of existence.

This was what Sam was meant for.

"I want you cumming for me, Sammy," Lucifer groaned. "All those other times you had sex? Just getting you ready for me. Though, imagine if I got to have you as a virgin, never having been _touched_. I can make you a virgin. I can rip you, and then remake your body, take those memories. But oh, why would I do that? All our times together… Wouldn't want you to lose those, now would I?"

Lucifer got a third finger in him, a fourth, and Sam was shuddering from the pain of it, from how he was moving his hand around in him, and he reached out, holding onto him.

"Fuck!" he cried, not knowing what else to say, to do, completely helpless.

"There we go, Sammy. There we go. Cum for me. Come on, almost there. I know it."

God, the pleasure was bright and burning in him, _aching_, the pressure in his body immense, and he felt so gross inside. But oh, how his nerves loved it, how they were on fire from it, ecstasy kissing him inside, lapping along him, bringing him right to the brink and having him teeter over it, aching, aching…

Sam reached his end without his cock being touched, screaming, hiding his reddened face, shame engulfing him as cum streaked across his stomach.

Lucifer, ever violent and merciless, didn't let up with his hand and instead filled him with his other hand as well, leaving Sam trying to crawl away from him across the floor, kicking, screaming. The Devil got on top of him, holding him down with his naked body, too much of his skin pressed against his. He beat into him with his hands, leaving Sam incredibly sore, throbs traveling up his spine, through his torso, down his legs. Somehow even his balls hurt from this. Cock twitching, still spasming, Lucifer went at him with his hands, spreading him wide open, and then he gave him some relief…

Only to start spanking him.

"_Stop!_" Sam cried. "_No!_"

Lucifer did stop then, putting an arm around his throat, drawing him up close, so much of his skin against his, so warm somehow after coming back from the dead, and his lips were against his ear, soft.

He spoke, voice a needy, but angered, snarl, "You know I don't like that word."

"Get! Off me!"

"It's just us, Sam," he growled. "I won't be getting off you. I know how in one of your favorite shows they like to say they'll fuck someone bloody. Well, I'm going to do more than that. _I'm going to fuck you to death._ Gonna let you die from shock, or maybe dehydration, or exhaustion. Either way, you're dying with me in you, like it's meant to be. I would say save your stupid pleas for the afterlife, but I destroyed that. So suck it up like the good little bitch I know you are."

Sam yelled wordlessly at him now, tried rolling, but it was useless, and the Devil thought it was a perfect time to penetrate him with his cock. Somehow Sam's body was able to make more tears. He was helpless as he fucked him, and he showed no mercy, not even any tact. He just went at him, hips moving like all he needed in life was to destroy Sam's ass, to rip him apart and leave him gaping, to ruin him.

It was going to go on for hours. Sam knew that. Sometimes it had been like that in the Cage, Satan having an endless energy, no actual refractory period, and no real need to cum — just doing it because he wanted to, to mark what was his.

On and on it went, so mind-numbing that Sam drifted in and out of different states of consciousness, that his mind replayed Jack's death, replayed Dean's death, and Castiel's.

Blood. So much blood. Screams hurting his ears.

Dead.

No more.

God, if Lucifer had wanted a sex doll he should've just gotten one of those, Sam realized, because he was just lying there, not fighting.

The Devil realized it, and he beat him for it, till blood ran and his ribs fractured, till bones in his face fractured.

So after emptying his stomach once again, Sam reciprocated, forcing himself to ride the Devil's cock. It hurt. It hurt to the ends of the Earth, and it left him screaming, leaning back into him, his body being caressed and scraped at by him.

Sam managed to cum another time that day, and the Devil came more times than Sam was willing to count, till he was covered in the sticky evidence of his pleasure with the defiling of his body. It mixed with the blood on him, the blood inside of him, covered the bruises.

Day one ended with Sam lying in the corner, lips and mouth dry, sore, delirious, bloody, and wishing for death.

Lucifer sat nearby, singing softly to him.

* * *

"Sammy, you gotta get up."

Dean. Ugh, Sam just wanted a few extra minutes. Why did Dean have to be pestering him?

"Sam, come on."

A hand was ruffling his hair. Still Dean, and he moaned.

God, he hurt.

He cracked his eyes open, and his brother stood before him. Sam was shivering, cold. His lips were chapped, mouth too dry, and he stared at Dean, who was blurry in his vision, like he wasn't really there. But he was. They were in his old nursery.

Why were they there?

Were they on a hunt?

"What is it?" Sam asked, but somehow he was sure the words hadn't really left him. His mouth felt thick, filled with cotton balls, and like he hadn't really spoken, tongue swollen.

"Day two," Dean answered honestly. Sam groaned. "I want to tell you you're gonna be okay, but you know I'd be lying." His brother sat down in front of him. "I gotta be honest, I don't know what he has planned today, but—"

"You're dead," Sam interrupted.

Dean placed his hand against Sam's chest, over his heart. "_I'm right here._"

And then he was fading.

Lucifer stomped through the last remnants of his brother's image, grabbed Sam, and threw him across the room, leaving him groaning, trying to shake himself from his delirium.

"GOOD MORNING!"

Arms shaking, Sam tried to lift himself up, but he collapsed, the floor rushing up to meet him.

It was still early, a pale gray stretching out over the horizon through the window, light barely filtering into the house, everything looking like death, and some otherworldly, ghostly realm. But those surely didn't exist anymore. _He_ had gotten to them.

Sam groaned, just wanting to sleep, just wanting to lay there and die.

As if to further greet him, Satan forcefully grabbed his hair, scalp stinging, and licked his neck, up to his face, ending at his lips, where he bit him, causing them to swell even more, drawing blood. Sam whined.

There was no longer any sophistication or "elegance", as Lucifer had once called it, behind his actions and intent, just pure, destructive ecstasy.

Day two ended with Sam's hips fractured, bleeding from wounds inside that wouldn't seem to scab over, his cock and balls bruised from too-rough handling, and covered in the evidence of his defilement. Dehydrated, in shock, bleeding, delirious, in too much pain, Sam lost consciousness.

* * *

The sun rose on the third day.

Sam did not.

* * *

Lucifer stood before Sam's body, contemplating the ruin that lay before him. He even leaned down, caressed his hair, drew it back behind his ear to look at his bloodied, swollen face, to look at the tortures he'd laid upon him.

"Oh, Sam," he sighed. "Sam, Sam, Sam. What am I going to do without you?"

He sat down on the floor of Sam's nursery, utterly alone.

No birds sang, no people were out on the streets, no one left alive to go about their daily business.

No demons to annoy him, no angels to stop him, no reapers, no monsters.

Where was God?

He didn't show himself.

Lucifer kicked Sam's body, not hard, just lightly, wondering if his vessel was faking it, that maybe he'd wake up.

"I didn't mean it, Sammy," he murmured, tears building up in his eyes. "Sammy, I didn't mean it. Wake up."

Nothing.

He drew on his powers, and screamed, voice from deep in his chest, "_WAKE UP!_"

Still nothing, so he screamed it in Enochian, letting his voice ring out loud, and clear, so powerful the dilapidated house shook, the windows blew out, "_ARP FARZM!_"

The wounds on Sam's body began to heal, bone, muscle, and skin stitching itself back together, and the swelling receded, the beautiful bruises fading. Even the blood was cleaning itself up, his seed all over him dissipating.

When Lucifer's true and perfect vessel opened his gorgeous hazel eyes, he was a blank slate.

Tears fell, from both of the beings in he room, and Lucifer cupped Sam's face in his hands, tilting his head to have him look at him.

Nothingness lay in Sam's eyes.

Lucifer had won.

"Just you and me, Sammy. How it's supposed to be."

And so it was the end, in the house where it had all started, and Lucifer had Sam.


End file.
